Sugar High
by rainbowseagull
Summary: Excuse the lazy title. Fill for this kink meme prompt: "Modern AU. Modern-day reincarnations of Valjean and Javert meet, and begin a relationship." Slash, obviously.
1. Chapter 1

**RainbowSeagull: **_Modern AU. Modern-day reincarnations of Valjean and Javert meet, and begin a relationship. Eventually, they marry. It is, of course, then that they regain their memories. _Hello, and this is my first time filling anything from any kink meme. Assume that in this AU, the Les Miserables book/musical does not exist (what a terrible thing! D:) and that their names are completely normal names. And I know I shouldn't be writing this while I have another story that I haven't finished, but I am. Titled it Sugar High because I thought it would be absolute crack, but it might not end up being crack? Idk. I suck at titles.

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><p>Sugar High School's newest Biology teacher left his first day of teaching feeling like he had spent a week in the classroom instead of eight hours. Mr. Valjean was about thirty years old. He had gray hair, and would explain why this happened to his classes one day, perhaps at the end of the first semester or the beginning of the second semester. It would depend on when the started learning about genetics. He worried that his hair would turn white before then, though, because of the stress. Valjean regretted agreeing to teach a ninth grade class.<p>

He rubbed his forehead and wondered if he should stay home the next day. After all, it wasn't as if they were going to be doing anything. He wouldn't start giving lessons until next week, because schedules weren't set in stone yet and he didn't want anyone to be behind. It wasn't necessary for him to go to school the next day, but it was necessary for him to keep his sanity.

"Yes, maybe I will stay home tomorrow," Valjean said to himself. Then he looks around, hoping no one heard. It would be a bad first impression. At first, he sees no one and relaxes, but then he notices a tall man in an old-looking coat frowning at him. Oh dear. He must have heard. How to fix this? "I'll just go straight home after work tomorrow. Nevermind going to the bakery, I'll just do that now," Valjean said, and, pleased with how convincing it must have been, he went to his car and drove off in the direction of the bakery.

Valjean never knew why, but for some reason he always loved bread. He parked his car and walked to the bakery. He just moved to this area, so this would be the first time he ever went inside this bakery. Valjean was determined to make a good first impression, because he would probably buy bread here every day for the rest of his days in this town. He entered and saw the man in the coat from the parking lot. Surely the man didn't come all the way here to make sure he wasn't lying? Who was he, the attendance police? And how did he get here so fast? There must be a shortcut. Valjean decided to check Google maps and find it, because if he could save even one minute while driving to get bread... He bought a loaf of bread and left the shop, too caught up in his dreams of bread to remember the man in the coat.

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><p>Javert watched the gray-haired man leave with his bread. Maybe he did mean what he said in the parking lot. Good. Javert did not want to be part of a school where the teachers ditched because they wanted to. He bought a cookie and left.<p>

Javert, a man of about twenty five years old, had hoped to become a professional musician. He was one of the top musicians in his high school and an excellent marcher. When he auditioned for honor bands and colleges, though, they always told him that he needed to play with more emotion. Apparently, he played all of the notes too perfectly to be exciting. He had been told many times that he needed to express feelings in what he played. If it said piano, he played piano. If it said forte, he played forte. If it said crescendo, he did. If it said 127 beats per minute, then he played it at 127 beats per minute, no more, no less, and never would he dream of stretching the tempo to make it more musical. Eventually, he became tired of trying to teach himself to express his emotions and approached the band director of Sugar High School's marching band, wanting to be the marching instructor. He was accepted. Javert had meant to go to the bakery to buy a celebratory cookie, so seeing the gray-haired man in the parking lot was only another small reason to go.

He arrived at his appartment and carefully hung his coat up in it's usual spot. Javert sat in his chair and flipped through a book, wondering what he was going to do after marching season? Would he get paid for being there still? Maybe he could help out the woodwinds during concert season and get paid for that. He continued worrying/planning like this until dinnertime.

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><p>Valjean arrived at his house and happily began to eat his bread, ignoring the few boxes of unpacked furniture that had been lying on the ground for a couple weeks. The only things he had bothered to unpack were his bed (for sleeping) and a table and chair (for eating bread). It wasn't like anyone would come to visit him, so he saw no need to rush. Even if he did have a visitor, he was sure that it wouldn't take too long to take out the furniture. Or hide the boxes in the closet.<p>

He finished the bread and took a large textbook from his bag. Valjean began planning his first lesson, which wouldn't be until next week, anyway. He didn't know why. He would probably change it anyway. It was a whole week away._ What was the point of having it a week away again? _he asked himself. Might as well have it tomorrow.

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><p>Mr. Valjean's first period students were surprised to be having a lesson, when the teacher had said the day before that he wouldn't start until next week. Halfway into the first page, a student in the front nervously raised his hand after his neighbor had elbowed him repeatedly.<p>

Valjean glanced at the seating chart. "Yes, Jean?" he asked.

"Um, sorry, but didn't you say that we wouldn't start today? No one brought their books today because we thought we wouldn't need them," he said, blushing.

Valjean thought for a moment. "Oh, I did, didn't I? I'm sorry, class. We'll do this next week, then. Do whatever you want for the rest of class," Valjean said, and walked back to his desk.

The student who had been elbowing the class' savior whispered, "Thanks, Jehan. Poor Frèdèric back there looked like he was about to have a heart attack or something because he didn't bring his notebook." Jehan smiled, happy that he had saved his friend from a heart attack. Meanwhile, the student next to him began folding paper airplanes with the leftover syllabuses. He threw them across the room until one hit their teacher in the head.

Valjean looked up from his computer, frowned at the boy, and said, "Mr. Courfeyrac, I would appreciate it if you could direct you planes elsewhere." Then, he turned back to his computer and continued whatever it was he was doing. Camille Courfeyrac turned towards Frèdèric Combeferre and started launching planes at him one after the other. Frèdèric pushed his glasses up and continued reading his book. Jehan was happily drawing on a notepad next to one of his poems. The rest of the class was talking loudly. The teacher next door frowned and hoped that the class wouldn't be as noisy for the whole year.

First period ended, and the next periods went by the same way as the first, except there was no curly-haired boy throwing paper airplanes all over the classroom. Finally, the last bell rung, and Valjean was out the door as soon as the last student left. If he could, he would have gone before them. Valjean locked his classroom and hurried to the parking lot before the traffic got bad. Unfortunately, his classroom was far away from his car, and by the time he got there, it looked as if leaving would take nearly an hour.

Annoyed, Valjean decided to wait before trying to leave. He didn't want to have to battle with high schoolers to leave. The Biology teacher sat inside his car, opened the windows, and observed the cars as they crawled by. If he was a musician, he would have noticed how each car's horn was higher or lower than an other's, and he would have wondered what a song written for car horns would have sounded like. But that was Javert's job.

Javert was standing outside the school's music room, which was next to the parking lot. The sound of car horns irritated him. Honking wouldn't make the traffic any better. He entered the music room and was faced with a noise just as bad as the honking.

The room was filled with marching band students. A few were holding hands, one or two were chatting at a reasonable volume, and the majority were screaming at each other and over each other. Javert had almost forgotten how much louder a marching band was without instruments.

The band director waved to attract their attention. Several of the older students stopped talking and tried to get the new members to shut up. Most of them didn't hear, and a few chose to ignore them. Sighing, Javert switched the lights off, hoping they were mature enough to not shriek at the top of their lungs. The students looked around and saw him standing next to the light switch. He pointed at the band director, who started his speech. Javert didn't pay much attention. Instead, he looked at all of the students, trying to find the ones who he knew would be the most trouble. He caught sight of a boy, probably a freshman or a sophomore, with light brown, curly hair. Just as Javert thought to himself that he would be a troublemaker, the boy walked to the front of the room as the officers were called. Must have been a sophomore, then. Oh, dear.

He looked at the other officers, and relaxed when he saw that none of the others struck him as troublemakers. Javert knew he would have to learn their names eventually, but for now, he ignored their introductions in favor of examining the many trophies decorating the room. He made a note to never be in this room during an earthquake.

The meeting finally ended, and the sections broke off to get to know each other better. Javert dropped in on each of them quickly, and left. It had taken half an hour, and by now the traffic wasn't as bad. Not that it mattered to him. Javert walked across the parking lot towards the sidewalk. On his was there, he saw the man from yesterday drive away.

Something was familiar about that man, but Javert couldn't figure out what.


	2. Chapter 2

**RainbowSeagull:** Oh my goodness I'm so sorry guys. See, my computer was attacked by viruses so I had to get my friend to fix it. That was two weeks ago. Then, I discovered the Phantom of the Opera and decided to go through some fanfiction for it. Yeah. I ended up reading at least four stories that had more than sixty chapters, like seventy stories with more than one chapter but less than sixty chapters, and more one-shots than I can count. I'm a terrible person, I know. And this chapter was written a couple paragraphs at a time in between fanfictions, so I apologize if it flows awkwardly. Also, I'm changing it so that Javert doesn't have a first time. I know that probably isn't very realistic, but considering this is gonna end up a romance, I would have to use his first name if I gave him one. And I can't write Javert as anything but Javert. Okay. Long author note is done. Back to the story.

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><p>As Javert walked to the high school the next week, two things were on his mind. One, that school shouldn't start so early. Two, he was sure that he had seen, no, he was sure that he had met that man somewhere before. It was strange, though. Javert was proud of his memory, and something like this had never happened to him before. He never forgot someone he had met, and people he had seen were of no importance to him. Things of no importance never found their way into Javert's mind. As he waited for the crossing light to turn green, he decided that he would talk to the man at lunchtime if he could find him. The light changed and told him he could walk. Javert crossed the empty street and entered the school, wishing that he didn't have to go to the band class during school.<p>

He opened the door to the music room to the delight of the students whose parents were cruel enough to drop them off so early. They rushed inside the room while Javert dragged the doorstopper in front of the door. He saw the music students stuffing their instrument lockers with textbooks when he went inside. Wondering whether or not that was allowed, he opened the door to the office and looked over the drill for half an hour until the bell rang. He looked around. The band director was nowhere to be found. Javert opened the door and saw the orchestra setting up. Of course. Trust the band director to not tell him he didn't need to come to first period. Javert went to the computer and opened the attendance sheets. The first band class wasn't until third period. He looked at the schedule. Only about five hours to go before he actually had to be here.

Javert left the classroom. He thought about walking to the bakery to buy a cookie, but decided against it. He hadn't gotten paid yet. It would be strange if he started wandering around the school, but he didn't have much else to do. Javert let his feet take him across the school while he thought about the man from the parking lot the week before. A few minutes later, he found himself in the area of the school where the science buildings were.

Feeling out of place, Javert thought it would be best to go back to the music room and... He wasn't sure. Take a nap, maybe. As he turned around to head back to the other side of the campus, he saw the gray haired man from the parking lot.

"So he teaches Biology, then?" Javert said to himself after seeing the sign on the window. "It seems like he's new. The walls are almost completely bare. And his name... Mr. Valjean," he read with some difficulty. It seemed like Mr. Valjean had run out of all color markers except yellow. Even the writing on the whiteboard was yellow. Javert wondered whether he should go inside or not. Mr. Valjean had a class to teach, though, so he checked the room number so that he could come back later.

He wondered why he even wanted to talk to him.

At lunchtime, Javert walked over Mr. Valjean's classroom, hoping he hadn't already left. When he arrived, he looked into the window and saw him sitting at his desk and eating bread. Bread. It was fitting, somehow. Javert wasn't sure why. As he raised his hand to knock, he stopped. He didn't really have a reason for showing up. How would he introduce himself? He thought about turning back, but there were students everywhere. There was sure to be rumors if he was seen constantly hanging around Mr. Valjean's room. Rumors about what? Javert didn't know anymore. He knocked. The door opened a few moments later.

Valjean was surprised to see the man with the coat from the parking lot. He had gone to work that day, there was no reason for suspicion! Suspicion? Why should the man find him suspicious? There was a reason, Valjean was sure of it. He just didn't know what that reason was.

"Good afternoon. Is there something you want?" Valjean asked.

"It's nothing important, really," Javert said. "I just feel like I know you from somewhere, so I came here to talk to you," he said, shifting his foot back and forth. _Why am I doing that?_ he asked himself. There was no reason to be nervous. They were two colleagues getting to know each other. That was all.

"Oh, is that so? Come in then," Valjean said, holding the door open. _There's no reason for me to be worried. He's just another teacher. What do I have to be worried about, anyway? _

"Thank you. My name is Javert, by the way. I was hired as marching instructor this year. For the marching band," Javert said, holding out his hand. Valjean shook his hand and introduced himself as Jean Valjean, a new Biology teacher.

Javert almost said, "I know," but stopped himself. It would have sounded stalkerish. Besides, he didn't know his name was Jean Valjean. Just Valjean. Still, it seemed so natural that his first name should be Jean that he felt like he had known it all along.

Valjean picked up his bread, but he didn't sit down again. It felt strange to be the only one sitting down. "So, you're new here too, then?" Valjean asked in an attempt to start a conversation.

"Yes. In fact, I only just moved here," Javert said. "That bakery nearby has some delicious cookies." _Well that was a stupid thing to say. I'm sure he doesn't care about cookies. I should have said something about bread. _

"Do they? I haven't bought any of their cookies yet. Their bread is wonderful, though," Valjean said. _Oh no, that came out rude, didn't it? Now I sound like I disregard other people's opinions. I really don't though. I'm sure those cookies are amazing. Should I say that? But I already did! Just...in a much ruder way. Is ruder even a word? _

"Their bread does look and smell amazing. I haven't tried any yet, though. I have a loaf at home that I mean to eat for breafast tomorrow," Javert said. _Like he cares. And look, I was right. I should have said something about bread. He really doesn't care too much for cookies. _"Are you enjoying your time here?" Javert asked, thinking to himself about how much that question sounded like something a worker at a hotel would say. He probably should have worded it differently. Too late now though.

"Ah... It's alright. The students are mostly behaved, but there are a few... I don't suppose you know Camille. Camille Courfeyrac. He's in his second year, and he has curly brown hair. It's terrible. Not the hair, though, his hair is rather nice. I would threaten to fail him in citizenship, but I don't think he would care," Valjean replied, noting how much he was complaining.

"Light brown hair? Yes, I think I know him, actually. It appears that he is the sophomore representative of the marching band," Javert said.

"I'm warning you, when it comes to pratical jokes, there are only a few lines that Camille won't cross. After a while, I hope I'll get used to it. I might even think they're funny. But right now, it's just giving me a bit of a headache," Valjean said. _Don't say that's why I wanted to stay home. Don't say it. _"How has your first week been, Mr. Javert?"

"It's been just as I should have it expected it to be," Javert sighed. "I don't know if you've ever seen a marching band off the field, Mr. Valjean. They're very different. Think of it as...how many are there? Think of it as seventy Mr. Courfeyracs."

"Surely it can't be that bad?" Valjean asked.

"Maybe I am exaggerating a little. How about this: Pretend that each part of Mr. Courfeyrac multiplied to form seventy baby Courfeyracs who are not as bad as the original Mr. Courfeyrac, but still posess many of his traits. There are a few exceptions, of course."

"Ah, well that sounds more bearable. He does have his good traits," Valjean said. The bell rang to end lunch. "Is it over already? I hope you'll come again soon, Mr. Javert," Valjean said.

"Is it alright with you? Then I will," Javert said. _Should I come tomorrow? Would he think I was a stalker if I came tomorrow? Maybe I should give it a day. Or two. But no more than two._ As Javert walked back to the music room, he passed by Courfeyrac, who was rubbing his nose.

"I just don't understand it, Gabriel. I felt perfectly fine yesterday and this morning. It isn't allergy season. But I just couldn't stop sneezing all thought lunch!" he complained to his friend.

"Maybe you caught a new disease? Oh no, if you did then I hope it's not contagious. What if I got it too? What if it develops into some deadly illness, and I spread it before I die? It will be all my fault!" his friend wailed. Courfeyrac patted him on the back, not thinking to remind him that he would have gotten the "disease" from him.

Meanwhile, Javert had arrived at the band room and began to introduce himself properly after the bell rang. He glared at the students who came through the door late, but the director took no notice of them. The rest of the period was spent listening to players who had either just began to learn their instrument or who hadn't touched their horn all summer. A beginners' class. There wasn't much for Javert to do, and he had an odd longing to return to the science building. But no, he couldn't interupt work.

The next morning, Javert opened the band room doors once again, but this time, a swarm of band students larger than the one from the day before pushed passed him. There was an actual band class this morning. Javert had looked to make sure before leaving. It was the advanced class, so with luck, they would sound better despite several weeks on break. He took a chair from the tallest rack, pitying the smaller band members who had to wait for taller people like him to shorten the stack, and took a seat at the back of room. He flipped through the pages of a magazine quietly, surprising many of the students who looked behind to see the tall man in a dark coat seated in the back while calmly reading a copy of a Music in Motion catalogue. Some eyed him suspiciously until he looked up and gave the band director, who had just arrived, a quick nod and returned to his reading. He continued to flip through the pages until the bell rang.

The students started to get their chairs and stands, and Javert knew better than to start his introductions then. He let them set up before he introduced himself as their new marching tech. Most of them seemed wary. _Well, what were they expecting?_ Javert wondered. _A fun-loving marching tech dressed in bright happy colors who readily looked over every mistake?_ Javert almost smiled at such a riddiculous thought.

The director took over the rest of the class, leaving Javert to go around a fix minor problems. Minor problems for now. When they've had a week or so to get used to playing again, he would show no mercy in pointing out every single one of their flaws.

The poor intonation hurt, but at least it wasn't as bad as yesterday. Javert fought to keep a grimace from appearing every time a note was played by the band. Patience, Javert...it's been many weeks since they've played. Patience. Time will make it better.

Javert almost sighed in relief when the bell rang to end class. That was it, he was done for the school day. Of couse, there was still after school... But he didn't want to think about that for now. He had two class periods all to himself.

He realized that he didn't know what to do with those two class periods.

Go home? No, he would only have to come back later. Wander around the campus? Unappealing. Sit in the music room while (he checked the schedule) kids banged on drums and stringed instruments were picked up by students playing for the very first time? No, thank you. So, what? It wasn't like he had made friends with any of the teachers. Any of them, except...

Formulating a believable excuse in his mind, Javert headed off towards the science building.


	3. Chapter 3

**RainbowSeagull:** I totally haven't been reading fanfiction in my free time instead of working on this. Nope. Also, I haven't forgotten Les Miztery Dungeons.

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><p>Javert stood outside the door, trying to convince himself to knock while at the same time trying to convince himself to leave. <em>Hurry, or one of these teenagers is going to notice you and ask Mr. Valjean why a strange man was standing in front of your door.<em> He tapped lightly on the door, half hoping that it would go unheard and he would have an excuse to run away and go...where? He really didn't have anywhere to go.

The door swung open so suddenly Javert almost did not have enough time to get out of the way. Mr. Valjean stood in the doorway. "Ah, sorry. I forget that it takes so little to open this door," he apologized. "What brings you here, Mr. Javert?"

_Well. You knew that this question was coming, Javert! Didn't you prepare an answer already? Where did you put it? Oh, don't tell me that you put it in your pocket. You know things never come out of your pockets when you need them. _Javert frowned slightly. That voice had never bothered him before. Why was had he suddenly started to criticize himself so much? _Since you started being an idiot, of course, _the Voice said. Javert ignored it. "I...I have four hours to myself right now before I have to come back. I didn't want to walk back to _my appartment, and you are the only other person that I know apart from the band director," _Javert explained. "I did not want to remain in the music room and have to listen to beginners, but it's hot at the moment, so I thought I could take shelter in your classroom..." _Listen to how you sound, Javert. I would laugh if it didn't hurt me so. _"If you're busy, Mr. Valjean, I'm sure I could find somewhere else to wait for practice to start," Javert said quickly.

"Of course you can stay!" Mr. Valjean said, smiling. "I hope it won't be too boring for you, though. There's a table that no one is using, if you'd like to sit there," he offered. Javert nodded. "Right over here, then," Valjean said, leading him to a large table in the back which was covered in different colored papers. "Sorry about the mess. Try not to move anything around. It probably wouldn't make a difference, though," he said, just as the bell rang to end the short ten minute break. "I have books over there, but they're all about science, so I'm not sure if you would like them," he said, pointing to a small bookshelf. Students began to enter the classroom, and Valjean hurriedly erased the answer to the warm up before too many had the chance to copy it down.

Javert walked to the bookshelf and picked up the closest book. He glanced at the title and frowned in displeasure as he read it. He put it back and picked up something that seemed more to his tastes. Like he wanted to read something about the science of falling in love. _I'm sure it would be very interesting,_ Javert said to himself, _if I had ever been interested in anyone before. _Holding the new book he had chosen, Javert went back to the cluttered desk and started flipping through the pages.

The bell rang, and Valjean did his best to get the students' attention to start the class. Javert watched, slightly amused, as the teacher explained the warm up over and over again to a child in the front row. Sighing exhasparatedly, he asked on of the other students to help him and left for his desk, seeming not at all excited when the timer rang to signify the end of the two minutes he gave the class.

From time to time, Javert looked up from his book and observed the lesson quietly. He remembered all of this. It was quite simple, really. He didn't understand why so many of the students were struggling to understand it. _But hasn't that always been the case? _he asked himself. _Why did you ever decide to become a musician anyway? You could have done almost anything you wanted._ Javert almost sighed out loud. What annoyed him about the Voice was that it really was just him talking to himself. _I can't change what I've already done. Maybe it'll lead me somewhere good one day. Now shut up at let me read my book. _

Not for the first time since he arrived at the school, Javert wondered if he was going slightly insane.

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><p>The last class of the day ended. Javert had insisted on leaving for lunch, saying that he didn't want to be more of a bother than he could help. Javert replaced the book and said, "Thank you for allowing me to stay here, Mr. Valjean. Until I find somewhere else to go, maybe a coffee shop somewhere nearby, I'm afraid I may have to continue staying here."<p>

"You're welcome, and it really isn't a problem at all. I think the kids are a little intimidated by you, and that's all the better for me. They're not as hard to handle. And please, it's fine if you just want to call me Jean. I'm not your teacher, after all," Valjean said.

"You don't seem to have much experience with young high schoolers," Javert observed. "I will see you some other time, then, Jean," Javert said, and turned to leave.

"Bye, Mr. Javert," Valjean said, and stopped for moment, thinking. "I don't believe you've told me your first name," he said.

"I don't have one. Goodbye." Javert left and headed for the mediocre field where marching practice was held when the football field was being used by the football team. Which happened to be almost every day.

Practice went better than expected, which wasn't saying all that much, as Javert expected half of them to trip over their own feet and fall face first on the dusty grass, if they were lucky. If they were unlucky, they would fall instrument first on one of the many dry, dirty patches. Of course, the freshmen still needed a lot of work. It was good enough for now though, and really, Javert didn't want to spend a lot of time at practice. He dismissed them at the scheduled end time, much to the surprise of many of the veteran members, and started walking home.

_What is it about Jean Valjean that is so darn familiar? _Javert wondered as he walked. _I know I've never seen him before this school year. He seems to be a normal, honest man. Then why do I feel the urge to monitor his every action?_

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><p><strong>RainbowSeagull: <strong>Hrm, that was a short chapter. Please bear with me, I had a full idea of where this story was going and then my netbook had a virus so I couldn't write and I never put my ideas down on paper so I'm struggling to remember exactly what was supposed to happen. Also, I'm most likely going to have to start focusing on my schoolwork more, since I have typical Asian parents.


	4. Chapter 4

In two months, Javert was feeling rather proud of himself. Not only had he transformed a group of skill-less high schoolers with nothing better to do into a marching band a hair above mediocre, he made a friend. At least, he was pretty sure he made a friend. It was a little hard to tell, since he didn't have any other friends to compare Mr. Valjean with.

He never completely got rid of that strange urge to follow him everywhere, though. Whenever it came, Javert pushed it aside, scolding himself for even thinking about doing something so impolite. Sometimes, he would argue back, and that worried him. It didn't even feel like it was he himself who was talking back, but at the same time, it was.

That was unsettling. If it got any worse, he might have to see a specialist.

Javert spent his free periods in Jean's room, watching to ensure that the students were hard at work. Now, as he made his way to the classroom, he had an idea. The first competition of the season was in a week. Perhaps... Perhaps he could invite Jean.

He half wanted to delay his arrival by slowing his pace, and half wanted to hurry up so he could ask before he changed his mind. In the end, he settled on walking at a normal speed.

The Voice was talking to him again.

_Listen, Javert. You don't want to do this. I don't know why you've decided to associate yourself with him, but it must stop, _the Voice said. It sounded quite irritated. Javert was apalled by what his mind came up with sometimes.

_You should be ashamed, _he scolded. _It's not like Jean has commited any crimes. _The Voice laughed. Strange. That hadn't happened before. _Why are you laughing?_ Javert asked. He was asking himself a question andawaiting an answer that he didn't know, but expected himself to answer. If that wasn't a sure sign of insanity, he didn't know what was.

_You will understand soon. And do not worry. You are not going insane. You have been like this since the day you were born, even though you might not have heard me then. And as for me, I have been like this since before you were born, although my memories are a little foggy. I can say for certain that Valjean is not one to be trusted, though, _the Voice said.

Well, that was reassuring. He had been insane for his whole life, and simply hadn't noticed. Either that, or his mind was trying to convince him of that. Either way, he was insane. With a sigh, Javert opened the door to Mr. Valjean's classroom and entered.

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><p>In the two months that Valjean had known Javert, he had never shaken off wary, paranoid feeling. The feeling slowly evolved into a Voice, which invaded his thoughts at the most inappropriate moments.<p>

A few minutes before Javert arrived, the Voice felt that it was time to talk again. _Do it today. Tell him you have to leave. Quit, change your name, get a new job in Manitoba,_ it advised.

_I will not,_ he stated, though he didn't expect the Voice to give up quite so easily.

_For the love of God, if you know what's good for you, you will! _it begged. Valjean frowned.

_I don't believe in God, _he said. The Voice somehow managed to convey its anger without speaking for a few moments.

_Yes, you do! Because I do, and you and I are we, and we are I and you, but not seperately, _it said.

_ You are me! Then why are we arguing about this? If you were me, wouldn't you believe in what I do? But you do not. Therefore, I think I can conclude that I am in need of medical treatment. Do me a favor and leave me alone until then, _Valjean said.

_No. And no amount of medicine will get me to go away. I _am _you. I have been you for longer than you. You just haven't noticed me yet. I feel as if I've been napping for a very long time...the last I can remember, I was me...there were students...then I can't remember...then you were me, and Javert was there. And I remember Javert. That must be my purpose in your life. To warn you. Flee, _it said, and was silent. The door opened, and Javert let himself in.

"How are you, Javert?" Valjean asked, glad that his Voice did not decide to stay this time.

"Well, and you? No, wait, before you answer, I have another question," Javert said. "The marching band's first field competition is next Saturday. Would you be interested in watching?" he asked, trying not to appear too hopeful.

On his side, Valjean was trying not to appear too thrilled. "Yes, of course I would! I'd love to!" he said. _You shouldn't, _the voice hissed. Why did it have to come back?

"Ah, yes, well then, I'll see you here at seven o'clock, then?" Javert asked. Valjean nodded. "Wonderful! I, er, have to go now, there's something I have to take care of, I only dropped by to ask you that," he said awkwardly, and excused himself from the room. He sighed in relief that the question had come out so well, and made his way to the parking lot, intending to drive to the bookstore and pick up a book on schizophrenia.

* * *

><p><strong>Short chapter to prove that I'm still alive. And here I was thinking that posting on on instead of anonymously posting it on the kink meme would encourage me to write faster... I can't find time between studying and band rehearsals, though. x.x Sorry in advance for the time it might take for the next chapter to come out. <strong>

**Reviews are wonderful. **


	5. Chapter 5

Valjean slammed his hand on his nightstand, fumbling around for his phone, which was currently blasting out one of its default songs. He definitely did not envy the marching band members for having to wake up at this time every competition. Earlier, in fact, since they had to get everything ready and arrive before call time...

Six thirty in the morning on a Saturday, and Jean Valjean was dressed and starting up his car. He made himself a sandwich to eat on the road, and nibbled at it as he drove to the school. It came into view, and felt a sudden wave of sympathy as he saw all the students who were already standing outside the music room, waiting for the buses.

He parked and awkwardly approached the mass of band students. A few of them from his classes noticed him and tapped their friends, pointing at him. One said something, and the group burst into laughter. He looked around helplessly until he saw Javert walk out of the room. Javert saw him and nodded. Valjean walked over to him.

"Do you normally have to leave this early?" Valjean asked as a school bus entered the parking lot and came to a halt in front of the sidewalk.

"Yes. Sometimes earlier, rarely later," Javert answered.

"I'm so sorry." Another bus parked just behind the first.

"It isn't that bad. Really, it's just like waking up for school in the morning." Javert watched as the first bus began to fill up with students. "We'll be sitting in the front seat of the second bus," he said. Javert started taking long strides towards the second bus. Valjean followed before he was left behind with the mob of high schoolers.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, the buses arrived at another high school. Valjean woke from the nap he had been taking on the bus. He yawned and looked around. Javert was getting out of the bus already, but Valjean decided to let the students get off first. He wanted to relax for a few minutes.<p>

_What are you doing here? Why are you here? With him of all people? _Ah. There it was. He though the Voice was being a little too quiet this morning. He said so in his mind.

_I was asleep! You should not have come here. _

_ I didn't know you slept. I would have though that you would wake up with me, anyway, _Valjean thought, surprised.

_There are many things you don't know, _the Voice said in reply.

_I wish you would stop being so vague about everything and just spit it out, _Valjean thought, frustrated.

_Spit... it out? _the Voice asked, confused.

_Tell me, _Valjean translated.

_I often wonder why I can't do just that, _said the Voice.

_If you don't have a good answer for that question, I suggest you just do it._

_ I've tried, but whenever I do, you don't seem to hear me._

_ Why can't that be the case all the time? _Valjean wondered irritably.

_I'm here for a purpose. If you can hear me, then that is because it must be. _

"Wonderful,"Valjean grumbled to himself. The last student jumped out the door, and Valjean got out of his seat to follow him. He ignored the Voice's protests as he made his way over to Javert.

* * *

><p>Valjean made himself useful while the band was preparing to go on the field. He helped move heavy speakers and wheel props over to the gate. Finally, Sugar High School was called and Valjean rushed around the field to put the speakers in their place. When that was done, he retreated to the shade under the bleachers with Javert. A fifteen minute break before he had to pull the carts back off the field.<p>

"I thought when I agreed to come, I would be watching a show, not becoming the band's little slave for the day," Valjean joked.

_Slave! Do you see what happens when you associate with Javert? _The Voice, of course. It never could seem to leave him alone.

"Yes, well, the director thought that it wasn't fair for you to use our buses for free. He will probably forget to thank you, so I give you double my thanks," Javert said.

_Do not thank him! He is undeserving of any form of politeness! _Javert wished the Voice would go away, just for one converstion.

"You're welcome. So, when does this start?" Valjean asked, motioning towards the motionless marching band.

"Soon. They give us a warm up time, and since we seem to be done warming up, the band will have to wait until the judges say-"

"Sugar High School, the judges are ready," the loudspeaker interrupted.

"-that. Shh now, it's starting," Javert finished.

Valjean turned his eyes toward the field. He rather wished he could have been up on the bleachers, where he could clearly see the formations, but it was still impressive from the ground. He heard some complicated-sounding parts from a few of the higher instruments, which were then picked up by lower imstruments. It was quite catchy, but in a different way from the songs that blasted out of car speakers in the school's parking lot.

And it _looked _complicated too. A few of the students, probably younger ones, were visibly exhausted by the end of the first song. Valjean admired their dedication in sticking to the program, and then remembered that Javert was their instructor, and could probably do this far better than the best of the students, and had been doing so for years. For some reason he couldn't identify, Valjean felt himself swell up with pride.

The second song started with a beautiful solo. Valjean didn't know the difference between a piccolo and a sousaphone, and so couldn't say which it was, but the emotions pouring out of the notes touched him. He was less impressed when the full band joined in. It felt... dead. Emotionless. Technichally perfect, but there was something missing. Still, he enjoyed it.

The third song started, and it was nothing short of a mess. Javert looked away from Valjean, embarassed. Valjean could tell that it was _supposed _to be a happy, energetic piece, but the band didn't seem quite ready for it yet. The big ending that he knew was supposed to be there just...wasn't there.

Yet.

It was their first performance, he knew that they would get it done in time.

Valjean turned to Javert, about to congradulate him on training the band so well, when a parent shouted his name and he was forced to run to the field and drag the percussion equipment past the gates.

* * *

><p>"We aren't that good yet." Javert took a seat next to Valjean on the bus back to the school. "You noticed, and don't deny it."<p>

"Well... The last song needs work," Valjean said. Javert laughed. "And...there was something about the second that bothered me." Javert raised an eyebrow.

"And what would that be?"

"The solo...it was good. Very good. But when it came time for the group to play together...I'm no musician, but it sounded emotionless, I think."

Javert thought about this for a moment. "I know. I wish I could do something about that, but I just don't know how. Emotion has always been a weak point for me," he admitted.

"Then I guess we'll just have to work on that!" Valjean said excitedly. Javert looked confused. "I've got all sorts of books and movies that will make your emotions go crazy! We can start tomorrow afternoon?"

"I...I don't know..."

"I'll bring donuts and cookies from that bakery nearby."

"Tomorrow at four, then?"

They spent the rest of the bus ride chatting about nothing inparticular, both of them ignoring the annoying Voices in their heads until the Voices eventually gave up for the remainder of the night.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm back! Sorry, I started writing this as soon as break started, and then I went on a trip to the east coast to watch Phantom among other things and I only just got back a few days ago to write this. Also if you hadn't noticed, my Javert enjoys sweet things. I don't even know how that happened, he just came out like that. <strong>


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